The last time I flew anywhere was 21 months ago, when I came back soaked and knackered from a hectic week of bird research off County Cork.
‘They’ve gone bonkers over Corona Virus over there,’ I remember saying to Caroline when I got in. ‘It was on the hire car radio the entire time.’ Right again.
If someone had told me then that I would maybe, probably even, never fly again in my life, I would assume that death or serious illness would have prevented me. Now I’m not so sure. Actually, I sat through a pros and cons debate at a Nature Event in Bath this afternoon, and still emerged undecided. Taking a grossly reductionist view of the argument, it depends on whether the saving of about 0.25% (an eighth of air transport ) of global emissions and the risk of being seen as a white saviour, justifies screwing the micro-economies of a worldwide network of communities (mainly in the third world). ‘The Gorillas in the Mist’ would have been extinct decades ago were it not for the tourists’ said one voice; ‘just donate your money instead and watch it all on TV’ said the other.
I preferred the first voice, so the aeroplane door is still open for me, even if only ajar. And if only to make a point.
However, 48 hours before, and as part of the same conference, I stood on a bank above the reeds of Avalon Marshes near Glastonbury, and watched spellbound as around a hundred thousand starlings came in from the surrounding areas to roost.
Research seems to suggest that those giant, shape-shifting murmurations of starlings are enabled simply by each bird within them keeping an eye on 6 of its neighbours, and turning when they do. Apparently an Italian PhD student came up with that, which makes it good enough for me.
When they finally decide to drop down into the reeds, they fold one wing and simply ‘whiffle’ vertically down as if crash landing, the better to get down there quickly and keep out of the way of passing sparrow hawks. And if you don’t like the word ‘whiffle’ you should. Geese do it, as do a few members of the Yorkshire Cricket Club committee.
I have spent years wanting to see this feature of the Somerset Levels, and it didn’t disappoint. We lurked around until nightfall, and then headed back to the coach to the haunting wail of a violently pissed off water rail.
Those murmurations are one of the great and unforgettable wildlife sights of Britain, and they are completely free. For all our determined depletion of nature, there are still a ton of other sights to save you even thinking of getting onto a plane to go and see flamingos on Lake Nakuru or Snow Leopards. Just lie in under a greening oak tree in early May, watch choughs playing on the Cornish cliffs or see 25,000 Manx Shearwaters rafting before an evening roost, without extracting more fossil fuel from the ground than the petrol it takes to get you to the station.
Fourth Heathrow runway. I don’t think so.
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